


Altus and Amatus

by Fen_Halani



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Halani/pseuds/Fen_Halani
Summary: Arryn Lavellan is a Dalish elf from the Free Marches sent to the Conclave to keep an eye on the doing of the South. There things go horribly wrong and Lavellan finds himself an outcast at the center of events that will make or break his world. Through out the chaos both friends and enemies are made. While Arryn struggles with the weight of all that is forced upon him, he takes comfort in an unlikely lover. If they world is to whisper about him, they may as well have something interesting to to gossip about.Random writings from my run through with a Dorian Romance.I will do my best to keep things in order, but I make no promises. I apologize in advance for any errors in spelling or grammar.





	Altus and Amatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan strives to find a rock to cling to in the roaring waters of Thedas's unknown future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be some jumping around a bit in the timeline after this. There is some stuff that comes before that I want to post but that isn't fleshed out yet. Eventually things will even out to something mostly chronological... hopefully. I'll reorder the chapters once things get more stable.

“Dorian, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Lavellan said. “Do you have a moment?”

“Oh. Questions just for me? How exciting. Like presents under a Wintertide tree.” Lavellan smiled at the banter but his nervousness stop it from reaching his eyes.

“I wanted to talk about After.”

“After?”

“Where do you see us once all this is over?” Dorian’s face sobered instantly. A shadow falling over his gaze. It was as if a gulf had opened between them. What was merely a few feet, felt like miles. It was not the reaction Arryn had hoped for.

“After. That is assuming you, The Herald of Andraste, and I somehow manage to survive this mess. I suppose we could go our separate ways. I’ve been a boat in a storm before. I’ll get over it eventually, if that’s what you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I… Look. We have to make it through this alive first. Ancient Magister Darkspawn. Holes in the Veil. The templars. And let us not forget our utterly dysfunctional friends to the west. This, whatever it is between us, has been fun. I’d be lying to say it hasn’t affected me, that you hadn’t…” He paused, took a deep breath and finished, “What happens After can wait until after.”

“I see. Thank you for your honesty. I’ll leave you to your studies,” Lavellan said and he turned to leave, not wanting to show how the Tevinter’s response had cut him. 

“Amatus?” Dorian said reaching out for the Inquistor’s hand to stop him. 

“I love you, Dorian,” Lavellan said, not turning to look at him. “I would not leave you were it my choice. Not now, not ever. I did not believe myself to be overly subtle about such things. I did not think I have ever been subtle in my feelings toward you.” Lavellan gentle pulling his hand from Dorian’s. “Yet you speak as though I will leave you at any moment. As if I will wake up one morning and suddenly realize you’re tevinter and that people whisper too much about us and that will be that. That I will abandon you as if you are nothing. What have I done to earn such doubt?” He shook his head sadly and walked away, leaving a dumbstruck Dorian in his wake. 

Lavellan took a moment to gather himself at the base of the stairs, taking several deep breaths before straightening his coat and shoulders and walking into the rotunda. He wondered if anyone would notice or care if he took a few bottles of wine from the tavern and locked himself away in his quarters for the remainder of the evening. He had reports to read anyway, a few letters to look over and sign that Josephine had drafted for him, not to mention the plans for the next excursion. Certainly wine would help with those. 

Mind made up, he strode toward the tavern with as much purpose as he could muster. Everyone turned as he passed, each greeting him with gesture or word. There was a constant murmur of “Inquisitor,” “Herald,” “My Lord,” and “Your Worship.” Arryn did his best to nod or smile at each of them as he passed, for as much as he wished to be invisible, he wanted whispers and gossip of “I saw the Inquisitor, looking quite distressed, leaving the company of that tevinter,” even less. 

Wine acquired with little fuss - blessing upon that dwarf- and a success dodge of an invitation to tonights round of Wicked Grace, Lavellan made the return trip to the castle and the safety of his chamber with as much haste as he thought would go unnoticed. 

...

 

“One and a quarter bottles down,” the elf sighed, scribbling the last flourish on a note he was writing to Leliana, “annnnnd done.” He eyeballed the drying ink before turning it toward the raven patiently sitting on his desk. “What do you think? Seem reasonable?” The raven ruffled it’s wings and squawked. “Quite right. Be a dear and take that to your mistress please.” Raven hopped forward excitedly, pluck the rolled slip of paper from Lavellan’s fingers, accepted a few gentle pats from the Inquisitor, and launched itself out the nearest window. 

Official duties complete, Arryn stripped from his coat and undershirt, tugged off his boots, and collapsed on the couch upon his mountain side balcony. 

Everything hurt. There seemed no reasonable explanation every muscle should ache as it did, but that was quickly becoming the elf’s new normal. It’s not as though I spend endless weeks on end traveling across seemingly all of creation, constantly running, fighting, and riding. No, clearly that isn’t it. Must just be getting older. He took a long pull from the wine bottle, having long ago decided glasses were pointless when drinking alone.

The cold air sent a shiver across his bare chest, but it felt wonderful on the angry skin around the anchor. The electric fire of the mark scored the nerves of his left arm, occasionally sending flares of pain across his ribs and down his spine. There was a beauty in the shifting light, something akin to northern lights. It won’t be so awful if he didn’t consider hacking off his arm at the shoulder at least once a day.

He enjoy the view from the couch. The moon light set the mountain snow aglow, bathing the world in shades of blue. High above the stars shown in all their celestial glory. Perhaps it was just the wine, but staring into that endless abyss, Arryn thought he could understand why some dwarves felt they might fall into the sky. There were times, like now, he thought that might be preferable. Lost in a distracted stupor, Arryn almost missed the gentle knock as his door. 

He very much considered pretending to be asleep, but figured if someone was there at this hour it was likely with reason. Also there was a good chance of him actually falling asleep at this point, if he didn’t use this opportunity to get up. Death by hypothermia as aided by conspicuous wine consumption was not a death he wanted to be remembered for. He rose, snagging a robe from the wall hook and tying it about himself as he headed down the stairs.

“Dorian?” The tall mage had already turned to walk away by the time Lavellan had opened the door.

“Ah, Inquisitor. I wasn’t sure if you would still be awake.”

“I’m conscious though coherence may be beyond me,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “What can I do for you, Vhenan.”

“So I am still your vhenan then. I had wondered after…” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “I have been thinking about our conversation earlier. I thought it unwise to leave it where it ended. Is now a good time? I could come back tomorrow.” By way of answer, Arryn stepped aside allowing Dorian to enter, then headed back up the stairs.

“I’m not sure if I have enough wine for this, but we can have a go of it.” The elf retrieved the bottle he had been working his way through from the balcony, as well as the one he had remaining and set them both on the small table in front of the fire, gesturing for Dorian to sit in one of the chairs facing the flames. Next came two glasses. “Help yourself,” he said before setting about closing the doors to the balconies. Dorian disliked the cold. No sense adding more discomfort to an already uncomfortable situation.

“Rough night, I take it,” Dorian said, eyebrow arching at the near half empty bottle and its discarded companion on the desk.

“Not one of my better days,” Lavellan admitted as pulled a fur blanket from the chest by his bed and handed it the mage. “I apologize for the cold. It should warm up in here shortly. Until then, this will help keep you warm.”

“You are too kind.”

“No. Just kind. I’d do it for Sera or Solas or Josie if they were shivering like a leaf in an autumn wind.”

“I see.” There was silence for time. Dorian nursing his glass, Lavellan waiting for him to speak.“I’d be lying if I said this was my first drink this evening. Or second. Or third.”

“Does a bottle count as a glass? If so I’m doing fine. If not… I’m sure Josie would give me quite the lecture if I let myself get to this state in public. A well earn one probably. Maker only knows what people would say. Good thing I locked myself up here.” Lavellan snorted. “Heaven forbid people see me as a flawed human just like them rather than the divine being I’m made out to be.” 

“What a pair we make,” Dorian said. “No one can say we make the best life choices, but at least we do it with style.” They sat quietly. The fire’s warmth quickly filling the room, and casting dancing shadows. “I did not mean to offend you earlier. Or imply that you had ever given me cause to doubt us. The doubt never came from you. In my flailing, I am the one who as sown seeds of doubt. In truth, I try not to think of much beyond the present. Too many unknowns. And… and I fear what is between us.” Lavellan only listened. “I have never given much thought to finding someone and ‘settling down’ as it were. It’s something not done in Tevinter, not for one of my station and persuasion. Perhaps that notion has been ingrained in me too long and too hard. You seemed too good to be real. A dream I’m waiting to wake from and yet dreading the waking. How could someone like you truly be so…so..”

“Smitten? Enthralled? Hopelessly and utterly in love with you?” Lavellan offered. 

“Yes…” Dorian said finally. “For all my bluster, all my pride….You are so beyond…me. Or at least should be. The way you speak, you place me so high that I am afraid of falling. Saying these impossibly beautiful things… There you are, Inquisitor, leader of one of the most powerful organizations of this age. Herald of Andraste, marked by the Maker. And me? What am I compared to that…” He trailed off. “I feel as a sparrow might being wooed by a dragon. Not my best analogy, I admit, but you get my meaning I am sure.” 

Lavellan scowled into his near empty glass.

“Is that what you see when you look at me, Dorian?”

“How can I not?” 

The Inquisitor knocked back the rest of the wine before setting his now empty glass on the table and rose, letting the robe fall from his shoulders to the floor. 

“What do you see, Dorian?”

“Apart from exquisite abs that would make even the most chaste Chantry sister blush?”

“Yes apart from that.” Lavellan said not rising to the compliment. Dorian struggled to answer. “You know what I see? I see scars. Here and here.” He pointed to a long wide ridge along his left flank and another across his upper arm. “A sword wound, gained when an old man and his sons were offend my clansmen and I dared to take shelter from a storm in the same tavern as them. Never mind that we would have died if we remained outside. Here.” He point to three narrow scars on the back of his right shoulder. “Arrows. Bandits. Opened fire on the Keeper and the Da’len she was teaching in a small glade. Punched through my armor, but at least I was wearing some. The little ones… were not.” Dorian’s eyes widened in horror and rage.

“Children?” he breathed. Lavellan nodded.

“Our children have to have an armed guard just to get an education more than ten paces from the camp… and even then. One died. Two injured. I wasn’t enough- strong enough, intimidating enough, fast enough- to save them. And here,” he gestures to a long rippling scar that curved from his right hip below the top of his leggings to the middle of his upper back. “Ever hear of a Rivani cattle whip? Now you have. I was twelve and in the wrong place at the wrong time. And there are countless others. Each with a story just as horrible, just as awful and bigoted.” Lavellan didn’t stop there as he sat back in his chair. “You know what else I see? Long and proudly pointed ears. Eyes that are too big and too bright to be human. And tattoos. Tattoos that will forever mark me as Dalish, as an outcast, a blight on the conscience of polite society. To many I am little more than a heathen and a savage.” Arryn sighed, exhausted and feeling far older than his year. “I am not the Herald of Andraste. I am not the Inquisitor. Those are just titles. One I actively deny and one I had little choice but to accept. I ask you, is there any way I could have walked away from becoming Inquisitor without further damning the Dalish and elves as a whole in the eyes of the world?”

“Amutus, I…“

“People are polite to my face, but just last week Cullen had to send a detachment of soldiers to protect my clan. Clan Lavellan, Dorian. Even now people thought they could wipe out my entire clan and hoped to get away with it. Knowing full well that I, a member of them, am Inquisitor.” Dorian went utterly white. Lavellan hadn’t told him. In fact, no one knew besides his advisors and the soldiers sent to Wycome. Arryn regretted telling Dorian like this, but it was done. 

Before Dorian could find his tongue, Lavellan continued, “They arrived in time. Barely. But barely is better than not at all.” The elf’s heart throbbed but it was nothing to hollow ache in chest. “The Herald of Andraste doesn’t love you, Dorian. The Inquisitor doesn’t love you. I love you. Me, Arryn Lavellan, loves you. I am not your superior. Not here. Not ever. I am not better, or purer, or less flawed than you. I am just a man, alone, and afraid who simply wants someone he doesn’t have to put on some facade on around. I want you. Wonderful, stubborn, prideful, intelligent, arrogant you. I don’t give a damn what people say about us. They’ll talk about both you and I no matter what we do all because of our heritages. I am well aware of their ways. Saying honeyed words to my face and then striking at the ones I love with a hidden knife. Words mean nothing. Action means everything. Let them talk. Let my action speak for me. Trust me enough to guard my own council.” Lavellan leaned back heavily in the chair, letting his head fall against its back. “And as to our earlier conversation, I am not a fool. No one can reasonably predict the future. And I don’t expect you too. I just wanted to know if this, if us, might continue if circumstances within our control allow? I’d hoped it might. But I am only half of the equation.”

Dorian rose and came to him. Cupping Arryn’s cheek in his palm and tilting his head so that their eyes might meet. He kissed the elf gently. A tend lingering thing. 

“You ask so very much and so little,” he said, resting his forehead against his lover’s. “You know how to steal the very voice from me and leave me so full I fear ever being empty again. I have been unkind to you in a way I never met to be. In trying so hard to protect you and in fear of my own rejection, I rejected you. I never wanted that. Forgive my insecurities. I do not understand your devotion, but I won’t fight it any longer. I’d be a fool to. To fight something I want so badly.” He straighten, pulling Lavellan to his feet with him. “Pariahs then. Two gorgeous men, with impeccable style, sauntering through the world and daring it to whisper. I can live with that.” They smiled, small things, but warm with affection.

Dorian held up the now mostly empty bottle.

“Be a shame to waste it,” he smirked. “What do you say to finishing it and giving the gossips something new to talk about.” Lavellan grinned.


End file.
